Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

I can just make out his splayed figure on the other side.

“Go!” I cry.

I hear his shout of frustration right before I’m hit from behind.

Chapter Nine

Grasping my sword, I fight off the pain in my shoulder blade, and turn to face my foe.

An empty corridor stretches before me.

Shouts and a cacophony of pandemonium rock the palace. A porcelain vase lies shattered near my feet, my blood staining the white stone.

“Show yourself!” I shout.

The air shimmers, black and silvery wisps bleeding into reality. “We’re not fighting today, sister. I’ve only come to ask of your assistance.”

Squinting, I run my sword through the rippling aether. It curls around my blade like smoke. In my hurry to get Xarion out of danger, I didn’t question h

ow they were able to cross the barrier. I only assumed they had. And I suppose they still can’t—not in corporeal form, at least. They’re using their power over the aether to attack the palace.

Ignoring Candra’s presence, I sheath my khopesh and rush past citizens, heading toward the highest level of the palace. Throwing open the first door I come to, I take a step onto the terrace.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” she whispers near my ear.

A cold chill sweeps over my skin as her voice lingers in the air. I step toward the rail of the terrace, my insides twisting as I take in the sight below. Pulsing white light beams across the harbor. Dark figures form a line just outside the city walls, their hands raised toward Alexandria, their power emitting a fierce glow.

“What do you want?” I finally ask. This is a scare tactic—the Leymak boasting their power, trying to intimidate. I can’t fight Candra as she’s not truly here, only her ka. They’ve waited patiently since the battle for this moment. And I have a troublesome feeling this has little to do with Octavian’s desires for the throne.

They want something.

Candra’s Ka wavers as she smiles, her faded form breaking through the aether. “I want an ally. Someone close to the young pharaoh, a trusted slave. Someone to bring him to Octavian.”

Anger flares in my chest, white-hot coils licking my insides. “You’ll get nowhere near Caesarion,” I snap, my voice rough. “And Octavian will soon be defeated by our queen. You should pick your allegiances better in the future.”

Her delicate black linens flow like currents in the sea, the shadows of her smooth features and silver irises eerily contrasting. “Your queen has already lost. And when she returns, Octavian will march on Alexandria—”

“Lies,” I seethe. “You tell me this to scare me, to try to—”

“To try to what, Star?” I step back, shaken. I gave her my given name only. She tilts her head. “Why would I offer you this? Why would I seek you out to unite with me if I have no binds? The only thing you have that I want is the king of Egypt. And truly, it’s only a matter of time before he’s captured.”

Whether she realizes it or not, her questions have given her away. “Yes, why, sister? Why would you offer me some chance at freedom if you need nothing from me?”

Candra’s form floats to the stone railing. She peers out over the harbor. “There are many levels of freedom.” She glances at me. “I want the highest. The freedom of the gods—to live forever, a true immortal—with no threat of Octavian ending my life if I do not please him.”

Squinting, I cautiously sidle closer to her. “That’s blasphemy.” The terrace shudders, and I grip the railing. The slash on my arm explodes with pain. “Order them to stop. I’ll not converse with you further until the attack on the palace ceases.”

Sighing, she lowers her head and chants into the aether. Across the harbor, one by one, the white lights blink out. “Satisfied?”

“Now explain yourself. Quickly.” With the palace no longer under attack, Xarion will search me out. I don’t want him anywhere near Candra.

She turns toward me, and the intense glow of her eyes is startling. “Your creator can take your life at any moment. You know this.” I raise my eyebrows as I dress my wound with the torn hem of my shift, unsure of her point. It’s common Egyptian knowledge that the sorcerers have always held our lives in their hands. “And you’re fine with that—living in constant fear that at any moment an order from your masters can wipe out your existence.”

Beneath my loyalty to Xarion, a nagging voice rears. No. I’m not fine with Fadil having control over whether I live or die—today or a century from now. But I’ll not reveal that to her. “I’ve made my choice to serve the Ptolemies. I’ve been granted a nearly immortal life, longer than any human will walk this earth. So I’m content in my choice. It’s far better than living a short life as a sheep herder or courtesan.” I back up my statement with a hard glare, determined to convince her.

A lilting laugh escapes her lips. “Your choice?” She matches my stare, a smile twitching at her lips. “You’re in love,” she says. “I understand. How pathetically sad.”

My stomach drops. I part my mouth to deny her claim, but she shakes her head, mocking.